Bodies
by Mistress of the Dark Arts
Summary: A series of one-shot ficlets/drabbles where Will & Emma talk about their favourite things about each other
1. Will's Arms

**A/N - Not sure how many chapters this series of ficlets will have (ficlets sounds nicer than drabbles to me so that's what I'm sticking with!) and how often it'll get updated, but thought I'd better get the ball rolling. As ever, I'm needy and your reviews make me happy. You know what to do people!**

**Disclaimer: Characters are the property of Ryan Murphy et. al. I'm just borrowing them for a bit.  
**

* * *

Chapter 1 - Will's Arms

Loved. Protected. Caressed. But never crushed or possessed. I know it sounds silly but Will's arms mean so many things to me. I've never really seen those two long limbs that hang from everyone's shoulders as anything other than, well arms. But when I get swept up in Will's embrace, it's as though he's letting me run free in my own little world while still sheltering me from the harm and pain outside, by using his arms to cradle me.

Now don't get me wrong, his physical presence and muscularity isn't exactly hard on the eye either, and when he 'accidentally' flexes his upper arms to show the sheer strength he possesses (he's always denied posing a bit in public, but I know how hard he works at keeping in shape so in my eyes deserves to show off if he so chooses), it still gives me shivers to think about how securely he wraps those same arms around me at night when we move together under the cover of darkness. And yet, however tightly he holds me close against his body, I never feel claustrophobic or trapped. I know with complete and utter certainty that even the fleeting thought of using his vastly superior physicality to threaten, hurt or abuse me, would _never_ enter his mind. Instead, his loving arms will only ever give me the strength I sometimes need to go out on my own and face the world, on days when I'd much rather hideaway and battle my OCD demons, or am just feeling a bit blue for no reason at all. His ability to transfer that raw power from his arms, into emotional strength and support is something that never ceases to amaze me.

It's not all about the force and power of his arms though. There is an innate delicacy he possesses too, that makes me love him all the more. It's the way he can lead me around the dance floor, so that we spin and move together in perfect harmony, without pushing or highlighting my clumsiness. The graceful motions and lines he creates with his arms while dancing in the auditorium when he thinks no-one is watching, are truly mesmerising too.

And finally, there was the moment when one simple movement of his arm sent me crashing headlong into the deepest love I'd ever experienced. Most people would have tried to wipe away the chalk dust on my nose with their hands (if I'd have let them get that far without running away in floods of tears), but Will chose something different, something far more intimate. When my mind wanders back to that moment in the daydreams I find myself lost in at times, it is always the gentle caress of his arm across my skin that causes the butterflies to erupt deep in my stomach. I can still feel the path his flesh took down my nose each time I reminisce. Only Will could ever use such a strong part of his body, to stroke my skin so delicately. If only I knew then that the simple gesture in a classroom, was only ever a tiny indication of the way he could use his power each and every night, to make my skin tingle and my whole body feel adored.

The man truly has a gift. And that gift is his arms.


	2. Emma's Belly

Chapter 2: Emma's Belly

I've never known skin so soft in my whole life. Even the flesh of newborn babies would struggle to feel as rich or luxurious as that which covers Emma's belly. At first the seemingly never-ending cacophony of lotions, potions, body butters and scrubs that had gradually taken over the bathroom shelves left me utterly baffled. How one earth could one person need so many different toiletries when surely just the one would do the job? Now I understand completely. I don't know what exactly it is she does with those different creams, but my God, for her skin to feel that incredible, especially over her stomach, I just pray she never stops using each and every bottle.

It's not just the feel of her skin there that I love though; or the look; or even the taste of it. It's what it represents to me that makes it so special. Whenever I rest my hands across her belly, be it just to caress my fingers across her skin while we're snuggled up on the couch, or lying together under the covers, it always feels warm and comforting. It's as if my hands were never meant to reside anywhere else. And when I'm stressed and she lets me rest my head in her lap while massaging my scalp to ease away my tensions, I always feel the need to slightly lean my head against her abdomen, to feel truly calm and loved again. It's as though I'm always being pulled to the centre of her, to be able to feel her presence take me over.

I'd be lying if I said I'd never imagined what her belly would look like if we were lucky enough to fall pregnant. To be able to feel our child growing gradually beneath her skin each time I ran my fingers across her flesh as I do each night, knowing that it was safe and protected in a place that was the centre of everything so amazing about Emma, gives me goose bumps. I do feel tiny pangs of jealousy though.

You see, no-one else knows how incredible Emma's belly is. No-one else is even aware of its presence, let alone the magic I find there. Even when she's swimming, it's never a bikini that she wears, but a swimsuit. When she exercises, her midriff is always covered by a longer vest top covering the porcelain flesh beneath. So for her to allow me to be able to revel in that piece of her body that is deliberately hidden away from the rest of the world, is such an intimate gift, I will never underestimate the power of that gift. It's so …. Emma. And yet, if my deepest desires are to come true and we do start a family, I will have to share that special place with our unborn child. Still, I'm sure the tiny green-eyed monster inside me will be more than overcome with joy to be able to put up with it!

The saddest thing though, is that I sometime feels Emma herself doesn't comprehend how magical or special her belly is. Occasionally I will catch her gazing at her silhouette in the mirror, breathing in or pulling the flesh taught as though she wishes her stomach was flatter, as though its current form is simply not good enough. I tell her so often that she looks incredible, and I'm more than happy to continually kiss the flesh there to emphasise that point (especially on the small cluster of freckles beneath her belly button), but I'm not sure she takes it in. The tiniest hint of a curve that is visible on her belly is possibly one of the most feminine and delicate sights I've ever seen, and it takes my breath away each and every time.

One day. I'll make her understand just what a special place her belly is to me.


	3. Will's Feet

**A/N - Thank you for all the lovely reviews so far. That's no excuse not to leave more though! In case you hadn't realised, these are all one-shots rather than being a specific story with overall narrative, and they are uber-fluffy, for which I make no apologies. I loves me some angst, but frankly we all need a bit of candy-fluff in our lives don't we?**

**Disclaimer - Already posted on LiveJournal. None of the characters are mine cus they belong to Ryan Murphy et al., but at least _we_ understand that Wemma are the best thing about Glee, rather than it being about Ms Berry all the time. Ahem.  
**

* * *

Chapter 3 – Will's Feet

I found his weak spot. He swore blind to me that he didn't have one and that try as I might, I'd never find that part of him that would cause his façade to crumble and turn him into a giggling 4 year-old boy in two seconds flat. He assured me that I'd never find that place because it simply didn't exist. Well, he lied to me. Big time. And I love nothing more than being able to get my own back for his fib by gaining my revenge and making him fall to the floor beneath me, begging for mercy when the time is right.

You see, Will has incredibly ticklish feet. And I mean _really_ ticklish. I completely understand why he tried to keep it quiet, because I've never seen anyone fall apart so quickly from a simple little wiggle of fingers across the soles of their feet. He always used to get the better of me when we were messing around on the couch or the bed, as I'm pretty much ticklish all over, and he used to love to wind me up by using every bit of skin he could reach to send me into a fevered, giggling mass of limbs. Try as I might, nothing I fought back with seemed to work. It simply wasn't a fair battle.

It took me by surprise to learn that his feet were so sensitive. What with standing for large parts of the day in front of a class, or dancing around the auditorium, I always imagined that his feet would be, well harder and more robust I suppose. That they'd be able to withstand the rigours of the day far better than they actually do.

I learnt early on in our relationship, that actually his feet feel pain and tiredness so quickly, but one of the easiest ways I can soothe him physically and mentally, is to massage the ache away for him. I love being able to caress away the pain for him; to know that once he's soaked his feet for a few minutes (I still can't bring myself to touch them unless I know they're suitably bathed first, but we're making progress on that front), my fingers can work their way around his soles, along the arches and deeply around his toes to soothe away any discomfort he feels. Watching him close his eyes and melt away into a different world is a pleasure I take great pride in. It's only me that can do that for him. Only me that can put his mind and body at ease. Only me that can tickle him without warning and rouse him instantly from his daze if I'm feeling a little devilish! That's how I found his secret in the first place – I was a little too eager with my fingers one night and accidentally tickled his skin, rather than relieve the pain from his sore heels. I've never seen him bolt upright so quickly.

I love it when he walks around the apartment barefoot too. It seems to bring out the reflex of his inner dancer when his skin is directly laid bare against the flooring. It might just be that I tend to notice his movement more, but there's always a joy in watching the way he'd pivot around the furniture, or spin me around in his arms if we crossed each others paths. When his feet are free, his soul seems to be too.

Most importantly though, even though I know his dirty little secret now, I use my powers against him sparingly. He still doesn't play fair when we have tickle fights by hiding his feet far away from me, or sit on them, knowing I'll never be able to reach while he's reducing me to a wreck, by running his fingers up and down my sides, and laughing heartily at my pleas for him to stop. The fact is I simply love the way I can use his feet to bring him back to the world, and to me, by caressing them in a way no-one else can, and that means I can't tickle him back every time to get my revenge no matter how much the child in me wants to. No, it's just that like any good woman, I also know how to use his feet to get what I want from him when the time is right …


	4. Emma's Fingers

**A/N: Apologies for the amount of time it's taken to post this latest chapter but I've been distracted by holidays, work and the Olympics (Go TeamGB!). Remember my affections are easily bought with reviews from you lovely people ;-)**

**Disclaimer: Characters pinched from Ryan Murphy et al.  
**

* * *

Chapter 4 - Emma's Fingers**  
**

I often find myself mesmerised by her fingers and they way they never seem to keep still. Drumming. Tapping. Pointing. It's almost as if Emma keeps her body under strict control, but her fingers somehow escape the confines of her OCD and run wild with movement, reflecting the side of her that is ever so slightly more devilish than she'd like the rest of the world to see.

Except, I know the rest of the world doesn't see it. Because I doubt that they catch themselves staring at her hands as she draws lazy patterns across pads of paper, or her desktop. Or my thighs. God, I seem to lose my mind the second she begins to squeeze my thighs gently.

At first her fingers would barely travel further than my arms or the back of my neck, as though she was afraid of touching me anywhere else. She confessed to me a while ago that her fear of inadequacy and inexperience held her back from letting herself discover me in the way she wanted to at the time. And yet, I never felt like complaining. I just wanted to treasure her each and every gentle touch. Even the smallest of brushes from the tips of her fingers against my skin, could send bolts of lighting erupting through my veins within seconds.

Emma's intimacy issues thankfully never stopped her picking up quickly that running her fingers through my hair, and caressing my scalp could reduce me to an incoherent mess, especially while we're kissing. Her ability to relax my body, but turn it on at the same time by simply flexing her fingers across my skin is something I truly marvel at. And thank my lucky stars for.

It seems like the right opportunity to confess, but sometimes I'll pretend to have suffered from a stressful day at work, purely so I can find an excuse to rest my head in her lap and let her fingers work their particular brand of magic while she massages my scalp. I just feel as though I need her to touch me all the time and I'll grab any excuse I can get, even if it's not entirely truthful. We've also managed to work our way to her massaging my feet too, and I'm more than pleased to report that she's just as talented as soothing me there too.

But over the past few months, her fingers have really come into their own, and she's discovered the power behind a simple touch and what it can do for her, me, and us. No longer will she stay within a 'safe' zone while we're together anymore. Her hands will freely grab and pull me closer to her when she wants more. Her fingers will glide across my torso while we're making love, squeezing onto to me to make sure that I'm giving her everything she needs. Her fingernails leave scratches and marks across my shoulders and back, as though she's marking me as her own for bringing her to life in a way that only I have ever done before. She communicates with those hypnotic digits to ensure I truly know what she needs, and demands from me. She's no longer afraid to touch my body, to tease and caress me in ways that bring the greatest of pleasures. Caressing. Stroking. Scratching. Our desires are no longer a taboo subject.

And despite all the passion within her touch, the simplest of holds from her will bring me comfort and peace.

Those same fireworks I felt months ago still course through me instantly at the slightest of her touches to this day, whether it's a deliberate embrace or simply brushing past each other in the hallway. There's something about the way she uses her fingers to touch me that is elegant and classy, but yet seductive and passionate at the same time, and I don't think she has the faintest idea of the power she holds over me through it.

Elegant and seductive. That's simply Emma all over.


End file.
